I Ain't Gay
by Betheryboo
Summary: Buford's been getting a lot of crap about his relationship with Baljeet. As a result, he's been making Baljeet's life, which is already in a tailspin, as miserable as possible. When everything gets a bit too real, Buford is forced to face his anger issues, his sexuality, and his feelings for his best friend. Bujeet fic. I'll def continue it if people are interested. TW suicide
1. Chapter 1

"Where's Baljeet?" Buford VanStomm asks as he plops into the uncomfortable cafeteria seat right next to where his nerd would usually sit.

"Hmm?" Phineas looked up from the small gadget he was tinkering with. Isabella rolled her eyes. "Uh, I think he's still in line. He got to lunch late. Had to finish his test." And with that, he went right back to building.

"Baljeet had to stay late to finish a test?" Isabella asked in a worried voice. Her well-kept eyebrows scrunched past her dark eyes. "That doesn't sound like him."

"It was Chemistry, too." Phineas mentioned. He was the only one who had willingly chosen to take chemistry with Baljeet- after a little bit of convincing. Phineas had a knack for science- building such strange contraptions in your backyard as a child will do that to you. But he was still nowhere near Baljeet's level. At least, not until lately.

"And you finished before him?" Isabella asked, tucking her hair behind her ear. Phineas barely heard her, giving her only a soft "Hmm?"

She glared and snapped her fingers in front of his face until he looked up. He grimaced apologetically.

"And you finished the test before him?" She repeats once she has his full attention.

"Yeah, I did. I was as surprised as you. He was barely writing- just glaring down at his paper like he could will the answers onto the sheet."

"I saw that when I was walking past the chemistry room. Baljeet was right next to the door and he looked like he was about to cry." Gretchen, Isabella's good friend and former second-in-command of the fireside girls, murmured. She was a soft-spoken girl, a year younger than the others, with a shy disposition that fit like a glove with Isabella's loud, bold, unabashed personality. She wore dark glasses and had let her ginger hair grow out until she could be called the red haired Rapunzel. She and another former fireside girl, Addison, hung around the group. Irving, also, had lost much of his 'crazed fan' weirdness and spent time with the group as friends. The group was tight knit. They've had their share of drama in their time, and would more than likely have more in the future, but they were tighter than most fragile cliques at their school.

"I told him that taking 6 AP classes would kill him." Irving said, looking up from his sketchbook. He had left his camera in the past and had settled into a more creative form of portraiture. "I tried it sophomore year, and before the first week was over, I dropped three of the five. And he's taking six? He's insane."

"It would have been seven if this school offered AP chemistry." Phineas added, shaking his head. "It's only October, and he's a nervous wreck.

Buford, listening to all of this silently, began thinking of what he would do to the nerd when he got here. He and Baljeet were friends, yes- close friends, in fact. But some of the other guys on the wrestling team have been giving him crap about his friendship with Baljeet. Some have even gone so far as to call him his 'boyfriend'. And Buford just couldn't handle that kind of black mark on his reputation. So for the past month, he's been trying to make Baljeet's life as miserable as possible. Spitballs, wet willies, wedges, trips in the halls, and dumping his homework on the poor, overworked kid had all become very commonplace. It felt good, it felt relieving- it almost felt like eradicating something that was threatening to bubble up and destroy him. What that was, he had no idea. But beating up and messing with Baljeet definitely kept 'that' at bay.

"Have you noticed he's been a little less energized, Buford?" Buford's head snapped up to find Isabella, Phineas, and Ferb all looking at him expectantly.

"I don't know. Why? Do I look like a nerdsitter to you?" He all but snarls, glancing back and looking for Baljeet.

"You know, Buford, you've been pretty hard on him lately, almost as hard as the extra work." Isabelle says, leaning forward to catch his eye again.

"I agree." Ferb, normally pretty stoic, chimes in.

"He's having a hard enough time already, you know." Isabella's eyes bore into him. The girl had grown up quite a bit. She had shot up freshman year and was now a wee bit taller than Phineas, had filled out while still keeping her skinny structure, and had chopped most of her long black hair off, leaving side bangs that fell over the left side of her face and a black curtain that frames her face, but only to her chin. But she had not changed much from her childhood stubbornness and toughness. And right now, she was all business.

And Buford was not having any of it.

"Give me a break!" He exclaims, waving her off. "I've got a reputation to keep up! How am I supposed to keep my rep as the toughest guy in school if I go easy on that nerd?"

"With great power comes great responsibility." Phineas says, trying to sound wise.

"Fuck off!" He yells. "You don't know what I have to deal with when I go easy on him! It's so embarrassing!"

"But you're hurting Baljeet!" Isabella's high voice shoots up an octave. "He's your friend! And this is going past simply picking on him!"

"He's fine!" He yells. "Now how about you worry about yourself, or you'll be gettin' some of it too!" His temper was now officially out of check, and he shoves himself away from the table, turning around to stomp dramatically out of the cafeteria.

In doing so, he ran almost right into Baljeet, who was holding a tray of food in his slightly shaking hands.

The first thing Buford saw was his eyes. They were dull, dim, and exhausted. The second thing he saw was the guys on the team, making kissy faces every time Baljeet came into the gym to walk him home. He shook himself out of the mental image.

"Outta my way, nerd!" He exclaims, placing his hand on the back of Baljeet's tray and shoving it up and all over Baljeet's shirt. Baljeet drops the tray and it clatters noisily on the linoleum floor. Spaghetti splatters everywhere.

"I said, get outta my way!" He shoves Baljeet to the ground, and he barely puts up a fight, tumbling to the ground on his knees and letting his head fall forward.

Buford stomps out of the room, every eye in the cafeteria trailing his every move. This was different. Buford normally didn't put anger into his bullying. Most of the time, what lied under the teasing was amusement.

The group in it's entirety stumble their way to their feet and hurry to Baljeet's side. He's holding himself up on the palms of his hands, staring down at the mess that now covered his sweatshirt. He sighed, but the sound was not annoyed or even angry. Simply empty.

"Oh my god, are you okay, Baljeet?" Isabella makes it to his side first, leaning down and wiping a little bit of the sauce off of him.

"What the hell got into him?!" Phineas exclaims, picking up Baljeet's tray and setting it gently on the table. Ferb, picking up the milk and the rest of the ruined food, nods angrily.

Phineas quickly comes to Baljeet's side. "C'mon, buddy, upsy-daisy." He takes Baljeet's arm and pulls him up. Isabella does the same for his other side. Baljeet seemed zapped of energy, barely able to hold himself up. He didn't even say anything.

"Hey, Baljeet?" Irving waves his hand in front of his face. "Come on back to us."

"I…" His indian accent was viciously overtaken by a tone of hopelessness so vivid that the others collectively winced. "I… I do not think I can do this anymore, friends."

"You mean Buford?" Phineas asked.

"Partly." Came the overworked boy's answer. He dropped his head as Phineas and Isabella let him go. His arms, once held up by his friends, fell limply to his sides.

"Baljeet, come on, chipper up!" Said Irving, inappropriately happy, as always.

"I do not think I can do this anymore, friends." He repeated, more strongly and surely this time. "I am sorry."

And with those foreboding words, he turned his back on the group and walked towards the emergency exit in the cafeteria. He grabbed the handle and yanked it open, stepping out into the sunshine and walking towards the sidewalk. Ferb glanced, concerned, at Phineas. Phineas only shrugged. They didn't assumed that he wouldn't be back for classes.

They also didn't assume the worst in Baljeet's words. _I do not think I can do this anymore. _


	2. Chapter 2

Buford was beyond confused. He had seventh period with Baljeet, and was prepared with pre-made spitballs to bombard him with. Some of the wrestling team and football guys were in that class, so he had to show off.

But Baljeet hadn't been there.

Buford doesn't think he can remember a time when Baljeet had skipped any classes. It just didn't add up. School was Baljeet's life. He loved the learning, the studying, the accomplishment of achieving. At least, that's what he told Buford. Buford didn't get it.

But nonetheless, something horrible must have happened. Did his appendix burst? Did his mother die? Did his house burn down? Buford could only imagine such ridiculous reasons as viable excuses for The King Of Nerds himself to skip school.

The gang all had eighth period free, so he headed over to his locker to grab his stuff. He stopped short when he saw Phineas, Ferb, and Isabella all standing by his locker. Normally the group would congregate near Ferb's locker and then head to the library to wait for the two younger girls to be done with their classes. They were all juniors, save for Gretchen and Addison, who were sophomore.

"Hey guys, what are you doing here?" He asks as he walks over to the small group. Isabella had her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Phineas kept his eyes tight on her angry form. Phineas was still on the short side, but he had gained a lean form, a few wiry muscles, and a hard jaw with strong features. Ferb towered above them, almost as tall as Buford, with a wide frame and a boyishly handsome face.

Buford's gravelly voice had barely gotten the words out when Isabella, her mouth quivering in anger, stepped forward. Phineas placed a light hand on her shoulder, murmuring a soft "Isabella…" as if to warn her.

That warning fell on deaf ears as she reared her arm back and slapped Buford in the face, with the strength of not her body, but of her hotheaded, angry emotions. Buford felt every bit of it. His head was knocked to the side from the blow, and he placed a hand on his cheek, feeling the sudden painful heat on his skin.

"What the fuck!" He yelled as he turned back to her, shoving her back.

"You're such a dick, you know that!" She yelled at him right back.

Buford grabs the collar of her shirt, pulling her off the ground and leaning in close. "You do not slap me! Nobody slaps Buford!" He yells in her face, feeling the embarrassment more than the pain. Nobody was supposed to get the last word with him.

Except for Isabella. Buford, in the past few weeks, seems to have forgotten that.

The hotheaded girl grabs Buford's shirt, roughly pulling him towards her, still stranded in air, and whispers, "Buford VanStomm, if you do not let me down this instant, you are going to be in a world of hurt. Do you hear me?" Her words were soft, but effective. Buford clenches his teeth but let's Isabella back down onto her feet. Phineas, worried for Isabella, lets out a small sigh of relief. Ferb pats his back comfortingly.

"Do you know what you did?" Isabella snaps, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

"Woke up? Ate breakfast? Came to hell- excuse me, school?" Buford shrugged, annoyed.

"You drove Baljeet out of school!" She yelled. "He left; just walked out the door and left. We thought he'd be back for classes, but he wasn't. Maybe if you hadn't been treating him so badly and refusing to help him when other people were picking on him, maybe he wouldn't have been pushed to his breaking point!"

"Don't you pin this on me!" He yells. "I wasn't the idiot who thought he could take 6 fucking AP classes in one semester! "  
"That's not all that's wrong with him, Buford!" Ferb exclaims, much to everyone's surprise. Ferb stalks up to Buford and pokes his chest roughly. "Baljeet has always taken hard classes. Sure, he's been exhausted, but he's never been this empty. This… this depressed. And you don't even notice how bad he's gotten, because all you care about is your stupid reputation!"

Everyone stares at Ferb, surprised that he had said so much at once. It wasn't normal for him. He normally only spoke so much when it was absolutely necessary. I suppose, to him, this moment was very important.

"I…" Buford glares at him. "It's not my job to take care of that nerd if he can't take what I dish out!"

"Oh my god, yes it is!" Isabella yells. "You're his friend- you're supposed to care about him!"

"Tell that to the guys on the team!" Buford is spilling out his feelings now, and there was no way to stop him. "Them and all their 'oh, is that your boyfriend, Buford' and 'ooh, you gonna go kiss your man candy'. _God! _I have to do this, to show them that I'm not in love with the guy!"

Isabella narrows her eyes. "And that's it?"

"It's their fault! They made me feel like this!"

"Feel like what, Buford?" Isabella stepped closer, so close that he could smell her vanilla perfume. "What do you feel like?"

"I don't know…" Much of his initial anger was gone, followed by confusion and frustration. "I just… there's this feeling, this weird feeling, an' it's in the back of my throat every time I see him, and abusing him… makes it go away for the most part. It was relieving- it was like reclaiming my manhood."

"So you think your manhood is gone when you look at Baljeet?" Phineas asks gently, afraid to bring back Buford's anger.

Not really having considered it before, Buford rocks back and forth on his heels. "I don't know." He says noncommittally. "Maybe? Kind of? I dunno."

"Buford…" Isabella places a gentle hand on his large arm. "I think I might know what the problem is."

"So do I! It's my damn teammates thinking that I'm gay for 'Jeet!" Buford snaps, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well… not exactly." Isabella played with her hands now, slightly nervous. She wished that Buford could just know how he felt, rather than needing her to explain it to him.

"I don't get it." Judging from Buford's confused face, Isabella knew that he wasn't going to come to the obvious conclusion on his own.

"Okay, Buford, remember when we were little and the boys would pick on the girls they liked?" Isabella asked gently.

"Yeah?" He cocks his head at her.

All three pairs of eyes bore into him until he had to look away.

"Look, until you wanna stop talkin' in riddles, screw off." He shoves Phineas away from his locker and spins the combo quickly, grabbing his stuff and slamming the metal door shut. "I'm leaving."

"Just… just think about what I said, kay Buford?" Isabella calls as he stomps away.

"And remember that no matter what, Baljeet is your friend!" Phineas adds. But Buford doesn't turn around or even acknowledge their words.

"How is he ever going to come around to the truth?" Isabella sighs, sticking her hands deep into her pockets.

"He will." Phineas looks up at Ferb, who was watching the brute's back as he stomped away. "It won't take very long."


	3. Chapter 3

Baljeet was tired. His parents had forced him into enough AP classes to break him. And they had. His grades were slipping, and he had fallen into a crevice of paranoia and worry from which he simply could not escape. He felt as if he was about to be crushed by all of the extra work.

And Buford definitely was not helping. Baljeet understood, of course, that Buford had a reputation to uphold, and that he should not expect any special treatment. In fact, he should probably feel grateful that Buford had gone easy on him for so long. But the treatment he was receiving now was taking a toll on what was left on his sanity. And he truly did not think he could take it anymore. He was a shell of his former bright, enthusiastic, and exuberant self. His parents had yelled at him for a good half an hour before sending him to his room to study. He simply could not study. In fact, he simply could not live anymore. He was finished.

He had stolen his mother's anxiety pills- she never takes them anymore- and his father's rum. The combination would likely be deadly. He had locked his door so his parents couldn't come in and stop him.

He uncapped the liquor and sniffed it. He wrinkled his nose. He had never drunk alcohol before. It would be unpleasant, but it would be worth it.

Twelve pills were lined up in a row on his hardwood floor. He figured it wouldn't matter much if the pills had germs on them. That certainly wasn't what was going to kill him.

Suddenly, he heard a knock on his window. He looked up to find Buford standing outside the window of his first floor bedroom. Over the years he had filled out tremendously, and whereas when he was younger he could slip in rather easily, now that he was six and a half feet tall and built like the terminator, he couldn't get in as easily.

Baljeet brought his fingers up to his face and realized he was crying. How embarrassing. He ducked his head, hoping that perhaps his bully had not seen him and would just leave.

"'Jeet? I fuckin' see you, shrimpy, so get the hell over here and let me in." Buford yelled, pounding on the window. Baljeet sighed, standing up and wiping tears away from his eyes.

As soon as Baljeet's eyes found Buford, he felt distraught and angry. He didn't want to face his bully right before he died. He wanted to end his life peacefully, not with one last beating weighing on his mind and his body.

But he was already here. There was no way to get him to go.

Baljeet unlocked the window and pulled it open to let Buford in. Without a word, Buford shoved his way in, pushing Baljeet out of the way. He collapsed on the bed without even trying to stay standing.

"All right, shrimpy, what's goin' on? You skipped school- you never skip school. You better tell me what the fuck is going on with you."

"What is going on with me?" Baljeet repeats quietly. "What is going on with me? Everything!" He begins to yell. "Everything is going on with me! I am exhausted! I am empty! I have no energy left for joy! It is all too difficult! I can not do it anymore! And on top of it all, I am being abused on a regular basis!" Baljeet gets up and stalks over to Buford, feeling less afraid of him than he had in months. Perhaps it was because there wasn't much else he could do to the overworked boy.

Buford looks down at the boy, surprised at Baljeet's sudden confidence, before pushing back. "Fuck off, nerdface! I didn't do anything to you! You picked all those classes yourself! And if you don't wanna get picked on, don't be such a fuckin' nerd! It's all your own fault!" He advances on Baljeet, forcing him to stumble back again. A crunch from beneath Buford's foot stops the both of them. Baljeet's stomach drops. Oh no.

Buford bends down and inspects the pill that he had stepped on. He picks up the half-full bottle and the bottle of rum. He stares at the bottles in each hand for a long time. Baljeet began to shake.

"… What the fuck?" Buford mutters. He lifts his foot and glances down at the neat pills lying on the floor in a row. Two of them were crushed.

"Please leave." Baljeet says quietly, holding himself tightly to stop the shaking. What would he think? Well, Buford certainly wasn't the pinnacle of healthy habits. Perhaps he just thought Baljeet had begun a bad habit.

"What're you doin' with this shit, 'Jeet?" Buford had a look on his face that Baljeet had never seen before- fear.

"I am doing nothing with those things, Buford." Baljeet reaches for the pills, but Buford snaps his hand back. "Please give it back."

"No." Buford glares at Baljeet. "Were you gonna do something…" He gulps. "Were you gonna do somethin' bad to yourself?"

"What do you mean?" Baljeet still tries to play dumb.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, 'Jeet! You know what I mean. You're not stupid. You an' I both know that you know what pills and alcohol do to you. So why the fuck would you have both in your room? With what's obviously too many pills sitting on your floor? Jesus, Baljeet, what the fuck?!" Buford throws the bottles onto the bed and grabs Baljeet's wrist. "Were you seriously planning on killing yourself?!" the large man's lip was quivering. He pulled Baljeet towards him and held both of his upper arms, despite Baljeet's squirming, not letting him get away.

'What does it matter to you?" Venom dripped from the small man's voice as he tried to shove Buford away. Buford held tight. "You have a reputation to uphold, remember? You are not allowed to care about me, because I am simply a nerd! Now get out of my room and let me… let me…" His voice caught. "Let me do what I need to do."

Buford didn't respond. He only let go of Baljeet and grabbed the pill bottle. He caught Baljeet's eye, and kept eye contact with him as he poured the bottle of pills onto the floor.

"Buford… what are you…" Baljeet advances on Buford, but before he can get very close, Buford begins stomping on the pills.

"No!" Baljeet screams, trying to push Buford off of the pills, but the distraught man simply pushes his friend away. Baljeet begins crying loud enough that if his parents were home, surely they would have heard. Buford, ignoring the cries, crushes the majority of the pills quickly enough. He steps off of them and Baljeet collapses on the floor, crying and looking for any pills that may have survived.

"Baljeet, c'mon, man, pull yourself together." Buford leans down and tries to pull Baljeet off the floor. "C'mon, you know that suicide isn't the answer. You've got to know that."

"No! Fuck you! You do not know what is happening to me!" He tries to push the man away. "I will continue to be abused, and overworked, and numb and sad and empty! It will not get better!" Baljeet shakes of rage. "And you have ruined my one chance at peace! Just like you ruin everything else in my life!"

"Those are the bad thoughts talking." Buford didn't seem bothered by the angry man's words. "You'll be okay."

"No! No, I will not!" Baljeet doubles over, the sobs wracking his entire body. After a few seconds, Buford kneels down with Baljeet and gently wraps his arms around that sob-wracked body.

"Look, 'Jeet, I'm sorry. An' I mean it, too. I'm really sorry for the last few months. I was bein' stupid. Those stupid assholes on the wrestling team and their stupid opinions don't mean anything to me. But Baljeet, you mean the world to me. Hell, you're my rock. You're my best friend. And I promise I'll stop bein' such a dick to you all the time, but you have to promise not to kill yourself in return." Buford chuckles bitterly. "Deal?"

Baljeet doesn't answer- he simply keeps crying. He was letting out months and months of stress. Buford understood.

It took a good fifteen minutes before Baljeet managed to calm down enough to actually speak.

"… Deal." Baljeet said, along with a few more sniffles.

"Good." Buford stands and grabs the rum from off the bed, sticking it into the large pocket of his leather jacket. "Now get your coat. We're leaving."

"Where are we going?" Baljeet asks weakly.

Buford doesn't answer, but rather simply steps out the window and onto the grass. He turns and looks at Baljeet, who was still in the room. "You comin' or what?"

Baljeet sighs and follows the large man, climbing out of the opening and closing the window enough that nothing could get in, but he could pull it back up at the end of whatever night he was about to be put through.


	4. Chapter 4

"Why are we at the park?" Baljeet asks as Buford leads him off the road and onto one of the newer parks that was built when the kids had gotten too old for parks, other than to 'hang out' around the playground.

"'Cuz my mom doesn't let me smoke in the house." Buford takes his pack of smokes out of his breast pocket and pulls out a cig.

"Oh, Buford." Baljeet sticks his hands in his pockets. "You are going to get addicted."

"Ah, I'm fine, mom." Buford sticks the cigarette in his mouth and lights it. He takes a drag and blows it into the air above his head.

"Why did you take me here?" Baljeet asks, a little frustrated. "Why did you not simply leave me at home? You have already crushed all of my pills."

"I dunno if I got them all." Buford looks away. "'Sides, if you've got it in your head, you'll find another way."

"How are you so sure?"

"I'm not stupid, 'Jeet." Buford ruffles his black curls. "You think when my ma took away my cigs I stopped smoking? Hell no! I just found some more."

"I do not think those two examples are comparable."

Buford grabs Baljeet's arm, gently but firmly, and steers the boy towards him. "Can you look me in the eye and tell me that if I had just left, just crushed those damn pills and left, that you wouldn't have tried to find something else?"

Baljeet tries to say it, he tries to tell his friend that of course he would have come to his senses and done the rest of his homework, gone to bed, and woken up the next morning chipper as ever. But he couldn't. Ashamed, he looked away and said nothing.

"That's what I thought." Buford let the small boy go, and stalks over towards the playground. "Hurry up." He threw over his shoulder.

Baljeet had to jog to keep up with Buford, and they were quickly at the equipment. Buford sits on the stairs and looks up at Baljeet. "Sit down, nerd. Let's talk."

Hesitantly, Baljeet sits down lightly next to his bully, half expecting to be pushed off the equipment. Buford takes a deep drag of his cigarette, which is now mostly gone, and throws it onto the woodchips. He turns to Baljeet. "Do you hate me?"

"I do not think so. We have been friends for far too long for me to seriously hate you." The smaller boy leans his elbows on his knees and droops forward. "But I do harbor a resentment, I believe. I have been pushed to the breaking point, and you have no doubt helped me get to that point. I am angry. Of course I am angry." Baljeet sighs. "But I do not hate you."

"Well… good." Without thinking, Buford put an arm around the boy and pulled him close. Baljeet froze, unfamiliar with such a position.  
"Why did you come to see me?" Baljeet asked, slowly letting his head fall on the strong man's shoulder. "Why did you decide, tonight of all nights, to come to my home to see me?"

"I was worried." Buford said gruffly. "You skipped out on school, which was a huge red flag. An' then Isabella was gettin' under my skin, and I just needed to see you… I don't know…" He looked away.

"What was Isabella saying?"

"I don't know… some stupid shit… talkin' in riddles, you know? Asking me how I was _feeling _and all that shit. Jesus Christ!" He leaned back on an elbow. "Askin' me to confront my fuckin' feelings… like it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world, why I'm…" his rant pitters off.

"I am afraid I am still confused." Baljeet says. "What did Isabella say to you?"

"Ah, just sayin' how she thought it was more than just the guys calling me gay and all that shit… sayin' something about when we were kids and the boys, like, pulled the girl's hair when they liked him?" Buford rolled his eyes. "I don't know, man, she was talkin' in riddles. Chicks are crazy."

"You do not say…" Baljeet murmured, the gears in his head turning fast.

"What?" Buford looked down at the kid. "Are you gonna start talking in riddles too?"

"No, no… well…" Baljeet had figured it out, all right. At least, he was now aware of Isabella's theory. And perhaps she was correct- perhaps Buford did have feelings for him. It would certainly explain the way Buford had been acting lately. However, Baljeet was at a loss for how he would bring it up to the man. Buford was utterly terrified of anything that would make him 'lose his manhood'. And ignoring that, Baljeet didn't know how he himself felt either. He certainly wasn't straight, but the thought had never crossed his mind before, and certainly not with the boy who's hobbies included making his life miserable.

"What? Spit it out, Baljeet." Buford grumbles, slightly annoyed.

"Well… perhaps, if you considered the situation in a more nuanced way…." Baljeet shifts uncomfortably, hyperconscious of the well-muscled arm draped across his shoulder.

"And how, per se, do you expect me to do that?" Buford said, his voice high and nasally, mocking Baljeet's accent and extended vocabulary.

"Have you perhaps considered that maybe, just maybe, they might be a little bit… right?" The small boy's voice was small and weak, and he tensed up for a possible backlash.

But that backlash, curiously, did not come. Baljeet relaxed and glanced up at Buford. His face was almost blank, his eyebrows turned down.

"When we were little…. And the boys would pick on girls they liked…" He looks down at Baljeet, his voice a little hoarse. "_That's _what she meant by that?"

"Well, I do not read minds, but reasoning it out, that is what I would assume she was trying to say…"

"She thinks I'm gay for you?" His voice was not angry, as Baljeet expected it to be. It was not shocked either. His voice portrayed a new emotion for Buford. Baljeet thought that maybe he sounded thoughtful.

"Well… probably…."

"Oh." Buford nods, leaning back. The two boys were silent for a while. Baljeet had begun to get colder, and scooted a little closer towards Buford, who radiated heat. Buford, rather than pushing him away, constricted his arm, squeezing Baljeet a little bit closer to him. He sighed. "So it's not just the guys on the wrestling team, huh? It's our friends too? Everyone thinks I'm gay?"

"Buford, the only person who can decide if you are a homosexual is you. All of those people on your team, and even your friends, cannot decide your sexuality. I wish you would not worry about it, because you do not need to."

"You're right." Buford holds Baljeet closer. "You're totally right. I mean, I'm a confident guy. Why would this shit make me unsure of my own damn sexuality? I know who I am." He pauses. "It don't make any sense that _just _the teasing is makin' me feel like this…" He looks over at Baljeet. "This is your fault."

"What?" Baljeet shrinks in on himself.

"It's you. You're makin' me feel like this. I'm so pissed off because they're all right. I do have feelings for you." Buford lets his head fall back, groaning. "Shit."

Perhaps, deep in his heart, Baljeet knew of Buford's feelings, because now he felt quite surprised that this was going down so civilly. He had expected anger, perhaps even violence, denial, and repulsion of his own identity. He had not expected such calm resolve.

"You… you seem so sure minded and calm about this…" Baljeet said quietly.

"Yeah, don't worry. I'm throwin' up on the inside." With his opposite hand, Buford reached into his jacket and pulled out the rum he had taken. He uncaps the bottle and takes an unashamed swig.

"Excuse me, but that is mine." Baljeet eyes the bottle, slightly jealous of Buford's ability to hold his liquor.

"It's in your best interest. I'll be more tolerable if I'm tipsy." He grins and squeezes Baljeet tighter.

"I do not condone such abuse of your body, you know."

"Ah, give it a rest and drink." He shoves the bottle at Baljeet. Baljeet hesitantly takes the bottle.

"Will it burn?" He peers into the bottle- the smell assaults his nose.

"Like a motherfucker if there's no chaser and you're a beginner." Buford chuckles.

"But there is none and I am one."

"Uh huh."

Baljeet considers the drink, swirling it around in the bottle. Then he brings the bottle to his lips and takes a small sip. The taste is strong, and the liquid does burn going down. Baljeet coughs heavily, and Buford takes the bottle out of his hand.

"Ya get used to it." He rubs the small boy's back. "Don't worry, it gets better- especially once you're wasted."

Baljeet glares up at the man. "I do not plan on getting 'wasted.'"

Buford only grins and takes another drink. "Sure, 'Jeet." And he offers Baljeet another sip.


	5. Chapter 5

Buford knew the bottle would not get them both drunk. But the rum technically belonged to Baljeet, so he let the boy have the majority of it. Not that Baljeet knew that. Buford was pretending to take more drinks than he actually was, prompting Baljeet to believe he could take that many real drinks and stay as sober as Buford was.

He was wrong.

Buford was buzzed, definitely- one could even call him tipsy- but Baljeet was well on his way to getting wasted. Buford lit another smoke as he watched Baljeet suck down the rest of the bottle and throw it onto the woodchips.

"I feel amazing!" He almost sings, stretching out his arms, leaning from side to side, feeling his drunkness in his unbalanced body. "Why do people not do this every night?"

"'Cuz you'll ruin your liver." Buford blew a mouthful of smoke into his friend's face. Baljeet attempted to swat it away, wobbling in the process.

"Perhaps, but you will ruin your lungs with the smoking." Baljeet giggles and points at Buford's cigarette. "But who cares! " He collapses in a fit of giggles on the equipment.

"So you're a giggly drunk." He takes another drag of the cig. "I like it."

"You got me drunk." Baljeet says slowly, between giggles. "You… tricked me."

"Hey, you drank as much as I did. I can just take it better." Buford lied through his grin.  
"Liar liar pants on fire!"

Buford laughs and shoves his hand under Baljeet's back, hoisting him back up. Baljeet bobbles, still laughing.

"I want to drink every night!" Baljeet collapses onto Buford's shoulder. Buford could tell how drunk he was, because he couldn't stop talking about being drunk.

"You're not gonna be thinking like that in the mornin'." Buford snickers.

Baljeet's eyes stare up at him innocently, despite the slightly wobbling figure. The boy's chocolate brown eyes connected with his for longer than Buford could remember in the recent past, and he looked away.

"Buford, do you believe you are gay?" Baljeet asked. Oh yes, he was drunk. His inhibitions were out the window.

Buford felt the desire to scoff, to sneer, to convince his friend that he was straight as a whistle. But the truth was out already, at least to Baljeet. Might as well keep digging his godforsaken grave.

"Maybe." Buford said. Then he paused. "No. I like girls. But I also like you. Maybe I'm going to like other boys in the future. I dunno. But I really like you."

"And you have never actually admitted it to yourself before now?"

"Nope." Buford said. "Anytime I started to feel it, I just covered it up with violence and anger and sometimes booze and cigs."

"What an awful way to love."

"Well, what about you, shrimpcake?" Buford slid his arm around Baljeet again. "Are you a homo?"

"I believe I have never had feelings for anyone." Said the boy, snuggling closer. "At least, none that I had acknowledged. I believe there may have been underlying feelings for you before you went all wacko-cuckoo." Baljeet laughed. Buford joined in, a little less hysterical.

"But not anymore?" Buford's voice was small.

"I do not know. They were buried under a mountain of abuse." Buford stings a little bit at Baljeet's words, but lets him continue. "Perhaps they will come back again. This has all happened so fast. I have almost killed myself, you have admitted to having feelings for another man, and I am now drunk. Please, do not ask me to make any serious decisions until this night of inebriation is over."

"Fair enough." Buford said. "So, you think you had or have feelings for me, but that doesn't mean you're gay. What about sex? Do you wanna fuck a pussy or an asshole?"

"Buford!" But Baljeet was giggling.

"You're right. You'd definitely be a bottom."

"Buford!" Baljeet says again, but this time he's collapsed into a fit of giggles. He falls from Buford's shoulder and his head lands in his lap, holding his stomach from the laughter.

Buford looks away from Baljeet, his cheeks going red. So this was it. This was the feeling that he had been attempting to cover up for who knows how long. He thought he liked it. He had liked girls before, and even had a few girlfriends. He knew the feeling of a crush. This was like that, but more intense. Also more embarrassing, but he tried not to dwell on it.

"So what now?" Buford asked, his voice taking on a serious tone.

Baljeet snuggles in closer. "What…" He hiccups. "What would you do if I kissed you right now?"


End file.
